In Dreams
by The Norse Sisters
Summary: Focusing on the events in the lives of a man chased by Nightmares out of his home in the blue desert and a young lady who has a strange connection to the Wisteria in her garden, along with a large crew of others. HOW WILL IT END?
1. Chapter 1

Hello! This is Faylinn and Ellsie with the first installment of our lovely co-written story. Please read and drop us a line.

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Her garden had but one variety of flower. The purple Wisteria climbed the garden wall; the pink Wisteria lined the walkway; the white Wisteria draped across the arbor. When she was younger she had begged for variety in her garden. She wanted Sunflowers and Tulips, Daisies and Lilacs, Peonies and Petunias.

But the Gardener had always responded with the same answer. _Oh no, Miss Maisie, Wisteria is _your_ flower._ He always emphasized _your_ in a funny sort of way. It made her feel rather less like she owned it and rather more like it owned her. He never answered her bewildered _why?_ and no one else would speak of it.

But as the years went by she began to grow fond of the Wisteria, for it made it undeniably _her_ garden. As long as she did not request a different flower, she was free to do whatever she pleased with it. She still did not understand why Wisteria must be _her_ flower, but she found a certain comfort in tending it. So much so that she began to do all her own gardening.

Had it been permissible, she would have dismissed the Gardener altogether. As it was, he did little in her garden but check in on her. She was twelve when he first found her angrily weeding the pink Wisteria garden beds, the only the activity she could think of that involved throwing a fit productively.

He smiled a congratulatory smile and told her she would grow up into a fine young lady. She snapped back that she wished to never grow up, but had insisted on being called her full name, Maeraid, ever since. Unfortunately, everyone else insisted her childhood nickname suited her, and no one respected her request. No one, that is, except the Gardener.

She was sixteen when he found her running her hands dreamily through her purple Wisteria blossoms. She blushed a heated scarlet, still strangely embarrassed to be caught caressing the same blossoms she had insisted be removed for the first ten years of her life. But he only smiled in his mysterious way and wished her a _Good Morning, Miss Maeraid_ as he proceeded to the other palace gardens.

This morning, the morning of her nineteenth birthday, she sat beneath the white Wisteria covered arbor. A few stray branches had fallen through the arbor cracks and brushed blossoms against her forearm. She thought she ought to put them back in their rightful place but hesitated to do so. She rather liked the feel of them brushing gently against her skin. A gust of wind blew back the drapery of white at the arbor entrance (she liked the way the flowers made a curtain of blossoms) and revealed the Gardener standing in the breeze. She thought she ought to have been startled, but the Gardener had ceased to startle her long ago.

"Merry Birthday, Miss Maeraid," he said with his peculiar smile. The wind let up and the blossom curtain drifted shut again. She parted it and stepped through to say _Good Morning, Gardener _the way she ought, but he was already walking through to the next garden, his gray hair disappearing into the lilac bushes beyond her garden walls.

The flowers brushed against her hand in another breeze, and a strange thought struck her. _I don't even know his name._ She wasn't sure why it bothered her; any servant with a position unique enough to be the only one was proud to be called by their title. Most even insisted on it. She didn't know the name of Cook or Stable Master or Courier. But Cook and Stable Master and Courier didn't call her _Maeraid_ the way Gardener did. And Cook and Stable Master and Courier didn't give her free reign in her allotment of their realm the way Gardener did. Cook and Stable Master and Courier barely looked her way, much less smiled at her in Gardener's peculiar way. Gardener was more than just Gardener to her, and for the first time she wanted to know who, then, he was.

She made a snap decision, the sort of decision she had tried to reign in since she was twelve, and brusquely walked after him. She let her hand brush against the purple Wisteria climbing the garden wall as she followed it to the garden's edge. Just as she was about to cross the threshold her hand caught in a tangle of purple branches. She stopped, knelt down, and worked at freeing herself. The blossoms had caught and tangled around her wrist, almost like hands, pulling her back. _It's alright_, she whispered to the blossoms as she untangled them. _I'll be careful._ The branches loosened and she let her fingers brush over them once more before stepping through the wall and into the next garden.

She had never spent much time in the other manor gardens. Hers was the third largest, after her mother's and father's. She knew this from experience, though she wasn't supposed to. Designated gardens were private and not to be intruded on. But neither her mother nor her father had spent any significant portion of time in their gardens, and she had been able to sneak in when the Gardener wasn't tending them, just for a glimpse of the only other designated gardens at the manor. They were larger, but aside from that they hadn't looked much different than the garden she stood in now. There were all varieties of flowers in neat beds with paths circling around them. As she walked through towards the next garden she found she missed her Wisteria climbing the walls and the arbor, even in the beds along the walkway growing so tall she could reach out and finger the blooms. Next to her garden, which seemed to live and breathe blossoms, this one couldn't help but seem bare in comparison.

She passed quickly through two more simple gardens before she caught a glimpse of a garden door shutting. Maeraid just glimpsed the back of him as he left the garden, but this time he wasn't headed into another garden, nor towards the manor. He was walking out the back entrance, the servant entrance, for those that worked in the manor but didn't live there. _Didn't the Gardener live at the manor? _she wondered. She couldn't remember ever hearing, and she had only ever seen him inside the garden walls.

She reached the door and hesitated. If the Gardener was just going home it might be rude to follow him. She imagined Tutor following her from her lessons into her garden and grimaced. But that was her garden, and it was forbidden for anyone but Gardener and herself to go there. Homes, on the other hand were open for visits. She opened the door and rushed out, before she could even remember that she wasn't allowed on visits without someone there to escort her.

The Gardener was far ahead of her, but she could still see him walking on the road towards town. She walked hurriedly, but not too hurriedly. She didn't want to lose sight of him and miss which house he went to. But she wasn't sure she wanted to meet him before he reached his home. She had been taught proper etiquette on how to make visits, but no one ever told her proper etiquette for meeting someone on the road. She pushed back the thought that that was because she was never supposed to be in a position where she might be alone on the road in the first place.

Town was larger and closer than she had ever quite realized. Somehow the manor had always seemed so secluded. The occasional visitor had need to visit the manor, but most business her father traveled to, rather than having it come to him. She had never traveled with her father. She rarely traveled at all, and on the few occasions she did, she merely visited neighbors with her mother. She had never been to town. When the Gardener walked past the tree shaded road and into the throngs of people, she hesitated yet again, wondering if she ought to follow this far. Her heart beat heavily within her, nervous at the sight of so many people, none of them familiar. She almost lost sight of the Gardener in her hesitation. Feeling suddenly like he was her lifeline, the only familiar thing about, she chased quickly after him.

Maneuvering in the streets, however, turned out to be quite a chore. _Straight, _she kept thinking, _I just __want to go straight._ But she went left around this stand and right around that, dodging women carrying basketfuls of vegetables and breads, and jumping out of the way of wagons full of hay. Soon she had lost sight of the gardener altogether. Rather than walking she felt she was merely being pushed about by the throng of people, none of whom seemed to notice her in the least.

"Excuse me. Pardon me," she muttered, though she doubted anyone heard. _If I can just get off this street, maybe the others aren't so crowded._ She tried to veer towards an adjoining street, skirting around the woman whose children darted about her ankles, nearly running into the man leading a lame horse. She was close now – almost to the other street. She could see it was much less crowded, only half the people this street had. If she could just squeeze past the young couple holding hands, and around the man sitting asking for coins.

"Look out!" someone called, and she could see raised hooves from her periphery. She darted to her right, tripped over the beggar man's legs, and fell headlong into the less crowded street. "Well, that's one way to get there," she muttered as she stood and dusted herself off, wondering where on earth the Gardener was and what she would do now. She glanced about this street and briefly caught eyes with a dark haired man, with slate blue eyes.

"Excuse me, sir?" she said, running up to him. "Do you know where the Gardener lives?"

* * *

It was a town like any other town, had been his main thought upon seeing it, lounging amiably in it's green valley. He'd felt a general dislike of it immediately upon entering. It was so _very_ cheerful and peaceful and kind.

Clearly, it was a town that didn't expect to be rained down upon by the flaming arrows of an enemy, or beaten to the ground by a disastrous storm. It didn't know anything of the world he'd come from. Not that there were a lot of flaming arrows there. Temperatures that can freeze saliva in your throat within a matter of moments have a way of putting out unprotected fires.

In any case, he hadn't wanted to come. He'd dragged himself by his feet there, through the green meadows and vibrant forests, clutching his walking stick and pack of belongings with a ferocity. He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay far away from people and towns for as long as he lived—which, for reasons he couldn't understand, was extending itself far longer than it ought to have.

But the fact of the matter was that he needed food. He'd lived off the land as long as he could manage, and he was growing more and more certain that he was starving to death. It was an uncomfortable experience. And for food, he needed money, and for money, he needed work, and for work, he needed people. So he went to town.

He felt hunted in the streets, like everyone's eye was on him and only him. To some extent, it was true. He was an outsider. He wasn't dressed like them, didn't look like them, didn't have a place in this town. But he had nothing to fear from them; he knew this, too. What hunted him came only at night, in the darkest hours, stealing breath, stifling air.

He eyed the people passing by and wondered where he could find work. An inn maybe, or a woodcutter or blacksmith. He could cut wood, hammer iron. He could do most things. In the Blue Desert, he'd been the Champion once. It was a high honor, only given to the best and most able bodied men, who could do all things. It was a long time ago, though. Another life, before the Nightmares changed everything.

He squared his jaw and crossed into a different street, less crowded than the other. He stood in front of some building; it didn't look like anyone occupied the place. He glanced at his walking stick and flicked a knife out of his pocket, finding an area where the wood was still fresh and uncut. He carefully etched one single mark in the wood, before closing the knife and sticking it back in his pocket. One down, eleven to go. Then he'd be gone, one way or another.

He raised his eyes to the street in time to see a girl almost get trampled over and stumble into the same street as him. When she was steady on her feet again, she glanced around and seemed to pick him out of the crowd, running over to him. "Do you know where the Gardener lives?"

He narrowed his eyes slightly and checked her eyes to see if they were focused. He'd seen crazy people and drunk ones, but she seemed actually in earnest. He frowned, shook his head, and gripped his walking stick. He took a step away, then glanced around the street. There weren't any buildings less abandoned than this one. He glanced back at the girl, took a few more steps, and leaned against the wall again, hoping she'd leave him alone.

Unfortunately, she followed after him. "The Gardener? For the manor?" she asked. "Are you certain you don't know him?"

He gave a slight grunt. "Listen, I don't know anyone or anything about your manor. And I don't care either."

"Oh," she said, turning away with disappointment clearly written across her face. She took a few steps away and glanced back at him with a somewhat lost expression. He frowned at her. She turned away again.

He looked at his walking stick and examined the smooth wood under his fingers. He heard a man's voice, deep and lilting.

"Maeraid," an old man was saying, coming up to the girl. "What are you doing here?"

"I...I wanted to know your name," she said, blushing.

He shook his head and walked the other way down the street. They certainly had some strange people in this town. He'd be glad to be away from them. Just eleven more days of this, then he'd be gone to...somewhere else. The next land, the next city. He wondered how long he could do this. His father would have told him he couldn't live this way.

_You can't always be wandering, Arash. Everyone needs something of their own. _They were words from a long time ago. He'd told his father that he wanted to be like the avadors, ever wandering across the blue desert. They spent a lifetime running, chased by many enemies, but they always got away. Always.

_We're wandering anyway, _he'd said._ What's the difference?_

_The difference is that we have a purpose, Arash. We have a home. There's nothing wrong with traveling, but we take our homes with us. We have our wives, our children. Our lives. The avadors are always alone._

He squared his shoulders. He was more like the avadors than he wished at the moment, chased, escaping, and always running again. But it didn't matter. There was nothing he could do. "I have my walking stick,"he said aloud, a mock reply to his father. But there was no reply. His father was gone, among the first to go.

Abruptly, another memory entered his mind. _Arash, have I ever told you the story of the man at the top of the world, who grows dreams like a garden?_

He'd asked what a garden was and had spent more time puzzling over the concept of making food jump out of the ground than actually listening to the story. But he remembered some of it. The man lived far, far away at the unreachable top of the world. It was cold there and warm, at the same time. It was everything all at once, and there was a tower. The man sat in that tower all day, alone, and he made worlds in his mind. That was how everything was so different there—warm and cold at once. There were so many worlds colliding with each other, and he sent them out one by one, to come upon the people sleeping across the world. He made the Nightmares, too, and sent them ravaging across the blue desert.

The man at the top of the world would know about them, about why this was happening to him. Why he hadn't died in all the seven cycles of the moon since the Nightmares came upon him, why everyone else did. Why he was chased across the world like the avador.

If he could find this man—he paused and shook his head. It was a fool's chance and a fool's story. Something made for children, to explain the unexplainable. He wouldn't even know which way the top of the world was, if there was such a thing. He snorted at the stupidity of the idea and went on his way, with just one glance back at the girl and the Gardener._ A man at the top of the world who grows dreams like a garden...

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_

_Note: an avador is similar to a gazelle but able to survive in much colder temperatures, as Arash lives in a very cold desert land, with blue sand. Faylinn wrote a very spiffy description of the place, but it sadly doesn't quite have a place in the general narrative.  
_


	2. Chapter 2

Ellsie would like to forewarn anyone who pays attention to actual flower meanings, this is a different world and flowers can mean whatever she wants here. (In truth, she did search for the real "meaning" for Wisteria, but after coming up with five or so different things, decided it was easier and far more convenient to make it mean precisely what she wanted it to. It already has it's own peculiar properties specific to this world, why not its own meaning specific to this world as well?) Faylinn would just like you to read the story and review promptly. ;D Enjoy!

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Arash chopped one more log, placing the wedge in the center before bringing the axe down in a long swing on top of it. The log split neatly in half, and he reached to wipe away the sweat accumulating on his forehead. He glanced at the horizon just in time to see the last sliver of golden light slip under the tree line. He threw the last log pieces into the pile he'd built up. His work was done.

"Impressive job." His boss walked out of the back door of the wood shop, glancing at the pile of split logs. He was a strong man but surprisingly small, with arms that seemed twice the size of the rest of him. "And you won't stay on?" he asked. "You're quite the good worker, Arash."

Arash shook his head, glancing around the yard with narrowed eyes. He'd heard stories—of men being press ganged into working jobs far longer than they wanted. He wouldn't be taken in such a way; he was on his guard. "No," he said firmly. "I'm leaving this town tomorrow." Truthfully, he had two more days he could spend, but he wanted to be on the safe side, in case anything else should delay him.

The man shrugged. "Suit yourself." He glanced down at his hands and held out the seven gold bliks. "A week's wages," he said. "And you're welcome to sleep in the shop again tonight if you wish."

Arash grunted and took the money, pocketing it quickly. "Thank you," he said after a moment.

His boss smiled again before heading back inside.

Arash stood alone for a moment, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Finally, he walked around the wood shop, to the street on the other side. There was no one out walking or doing business now. The wood shop was on the edge of the town, and it was a small town. Most people were already in for the night.

He took a side street leading towards the busier part of town. It wasn't far down the narrow, empty ways. He heard distant voices and clamoring, like the echoes of life now absent. He walked faster, not because he was afraid, but because he was reminded of what he was afraid of. The Nightmares had a way of taking on the sounds of life, when all they really were was death.

"Dreams for sale! All kinds of dreams!" The shouting caught his attention, and he glanced around until he spotted the grungy looking man across the street, standing on the corner with a bag of something, he couldn't tell what. What did dreams look like? Fairy dust, or little packages, or...monsters?

He spotted two women hurrying past the man with untrusting eyes, and he knew that anything sold in the streets after dark was suspicious, but he needed to know if there was anything to it, anything real he could make sense of. He took a glance in either direction before crossing over.

When he got closer, he saw that the man was more accurately called a boy, sixteen summers at best. He had long limbs, but his clothes still looked like they were draped around him, his frame was so thin. His eyes fixed on Arash with a wide, eager gaze. "Dreams for sale!" he repeated in a strange accent, turning his s's into z's and rolling all his consonants together as close as he could get them. "Dreams! Cheap, too! Only half a glik! You want a dream?"

Arash looked down at the bag curiously, and the boy quickly reached in and took out a small vial filled with a dusty blue liquid. "See?" he said. "A dream! Very good dream, too."

Arash raised an eyebrow. He did not see how a dream could bit fit into a bottle, like that. He was sure there were people who didn't see how a nightmare could hound you across the desert and into other lands, killing everyone you knew, but—still. The Nightmares were wild at least and uncatchable. These things were just stuck in a bottle, like some sort of tallow to be used at whatever convenience—if they were...used at all. He wasn't completely grasping the idea behind them at all.

"Will you buy?" the boy asked, gazing into his eyes. The boy had warm hazel eyes, though they were scarcely visible behind the locks of dark hair constantly falling over them.

He shook his head slightly. "What—what do you do with them?" he asked.

The boy seemed surprised by the question. He made a startled movement and glanced at the vial in his hand, pursing his lips. He looked back at Arash, seeming to measure him up before nodding. "Well, I'll tell you," he said, lowering his voice like it was a great secret. He leaned forward and glanced. "What you do is, right before you go to sleep, you sort of throw them to the ground and let them crash open!" His voice raised to a shout at this part, destroying any semblance of secrecy, and he waved his hands wildly to demonstrate the supposed explosion. "Then, the dream gets out of the vial," he went on. "You should see it get out, but you've got to just go to sleep. Then while you're sleeping, the dream seeps into your mind, and you dream it, whatever it is—beautiful, ugly, crazy! You can throw it down while someone else is sleeping too, so they can dream the dream. But you have to leave before the dream will enter their head. These dreams, they don't like being seen doing their tricks."

There was a loud guffaw from behind them, and Arash turned to see a tall, red-haired man stepping up to them. He looked at Arash and crossed his arms. "Selling dreams," he said, shaking his head. "I'll tell you what that is: cheap! I'll tell you what everything nowadays is: cheap!" He glanced at the boy and lowered his thick brows into a frown. "Give me one of those vials, kid."

The boy barely moved before the man grabbed one out of the bag, this one green colored and glowing. He threw it down on the street and the glass shattered, letting out a few puffs of green smoke before the whole thing seemed to just disappear, leaving only the broken glass in the street.

The boy winced as his mouth moved up and down, attempting to say something, but nothing came out.

"See that?" the red haired man said to Arash. "Cheap magic. Maybe not even magic. Just chemicals. Don't ask me how it works, but it does. Mix the right things together and boom! You get something weird. Now you can't tell me there's some dream waiting to sneak into whoever's head gets empty first," he said, turning to the boy.

The boy looked very distressed. "I—"

"Didn't think so. Where did you get these, anyway?"

"By the river—"

The red haired man snorted. "Figures. Now, both of you, listen up." He looked into Arash's eyes and then the boy's with equal sternness. "I'll tell you about a real dream, something true that you can actually hope for," he said, suddenly losing his cynical tone. "The Empire." He quickly glanced at both of them for their reaction.

Arash was not amused. He was, again, confused, and beginning to think that the people of this town were much stranger than he had originally thought. "What...empire are you talking about?" he asked.

The red haired man looked at him with a frown, which softened into a smile. "See, you're a fine looking lad, strong, strapping—just the sort of man needed for this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?" Arash asked, taking a step backward.

"I have a dream," the man went on, "of the world united under one, giant, unconquerable empire. The Benderdaster Empire. Led by myself, Berk Benderdaster. It will be a great empire. Filled with unimaginable riches. Cities of gold. People as strong as they come. There will be a place for everyone in the empire. Even young beggar children like you," he said, looking at the boy. "I'll be a great emperor."

Arash glanced at the boy who was blinking at Berk with a similar expression to the one he supposed was on his face. Puzzlement.

"So what do you think?" Berk asked at last, looking at Arash again. "Will you join my army? You'll be the first soldier in it. You can be a general if you want. You'd like that, wouldn't you? General...what's your name, anyway?"

"Arash," he said, "but I'm not interested."

"Well, why not? You could see the world! And not just see it, unite it! In an empire! What's more exciting than that?"

"I'm more interested in dreams—of the usual type," Arash said, turning back to the boy. "Are these really fake?" he asked.

The boy looked at the bag full of glass vials and seemed to consider denying it, but after a moment he sighed. "Yes," he said, "the man at the river shows me how to make them. They don't do anything."

Arash sighed and turned away. There was nothing for him in this town, or anywhere. He'd be running for the rest of his life.

"But wait!" the boy said.

He turned back.

The boy pursed his lips, glancing at Berk who was still watching them both, then back at Arash. "The man at the river...he says there's a real man, a man who makes dreams. It's where I got the idea. He lives—"

"At the top of the world?" Arash asked, interrupting. He flushed as Berk glanced at him with a frown.

The boy's jaw dropped. "Yes. You know him, the man at the top of the world?"

Arash shook his head, beginning to pace in front of the boy. "No. But I want to. I have to find him."

"If you're going to the top of the world, I'll come too!" the boy said. "I have always wanted to meet this man with so many mystery. I want to get a dream from him, one where I will fly high above the cities. You think he grows this kind of dream?"

"What are the two of you talking about?" Berk asked before Arash could form an answer.

Arash glanced at him, pursing his lips. He didn't see any reason not to tell him. "There's a man, at the top of the world, and he grows dreams like a garden. I thought it was just a story, but—if this...man by the river knows of it too—it might be true. I have to find out."

"Why?"

He looked at the man, then at the boy, remembering suddenly why. The boy couldn't go with him. He'd wind up dead after just one night. He had to do this alone. "It's...a matter of..." he paused. What was it really a matter of? Being free, getting his life back? But nothing could put things back how they should have been. He squared his jaw. "Revenge."

"Revenge? What does that have to do with dreams? You going to...send nightmares after someone?" Berk laughed.

Arash looked at him. "Take me to this man by the river," he said, turning to the boy.

"Now, look here," Berk said, coming up beside Arash and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Revenge isn't good for the stomach. I'm not one to condemn anyone for anything, but I don't want my first general winding up in a jail cell somewhere. I'm coming with you. Besides, this 'man at the top of the world' as you call him might have some good tips for ruling it, eh?"

"You can't come with me!" Arash said, pulling away. He wasn't going to be the death of them. He couldn't take another morning waking up beside dead bodies of people he'd known in life. "Neither of you can."

"But—"

"We're coming with you," Berk said, winking at the boy. "Now let's go see this man..."

"The trouble is he is not always at the river," the boy said. "I don't know where to find him most of the time. He's says he...grows flowers somewhere, or something."

"The gardener at the manor!" Arash said, looking at both of them. "It must be him."

They were both staring at him.

"I saw him ten days ago, when I first arrived in the city, with...some girl he works for, or something. Maeraid. He called her...Maeraid. I think. She was looking for him too. Does anyone know where the manor is?"

Berk's face furrowed into a frown. "I do. I've been thrown out of there enough times. I tried to get the nobles to listen to me, to get in on the empire. I thought, why not? They must know a thing or two about ruling. But they laughed at me—in my face. And then they threw me out into the streets." He spit in the dust and shook his head. "I know where it is. I can take us there, I guess. Come on."

He started walking, and Arash and the boy had to rush to keep up with him. Arash wondered how he was going to get rid of them both before he started the real journey.

* * *

Maeraid sat in the garden. Not her garden, but the garden with the swinging door where she had once followed the Gardener out from the manor. Only ten days had passed, but it seemed so much longer than that. She looked up at the darkening sky and suddenly had a strong urge to be in her own garden, amongst her own flowers.

Just as she was getting up, the garden door rattled. "This is the servant's entrance, if we can just poke around a little," she heard a gruff voice say as the door swung open. Through it walked a large red haired man, a scruffy looking boy, and a man with slate blue eyes. The man from the streets in town. She locked eyes with him as she saw his glance sweep over her, recognition flickering across his face.

"Maeraid," he said, a little unsure of himself and after a moments hesitation, as though he wasn't quite certain that was her name. She was surprised he had any inkling of it, for she hadn't thought to give it to him. She had no inkling of his own name. "We're looking...for the Gardener," he continued awkwardly.

"The Gardener?" she said in surprise.

"Maeraid?" the boy whispered. "Lady of the Manor?" He stared at her in awe and she grew uncomfortable.

"Miss Maeraid will do," she said quietly, averting her eyes. "Lady of the Manor is my mother."

"Nobility," the red haired man scoffed. "Let me handle this." He walked over to her and put his arm around her, beginning to walk her to the next garden. "Now, listen here little missy," he began in a placating tone, his stinking breath far too close to her face.

"Miss Maeraid," she interjected, struggling to free herself of his grasp.

"Miss Maeraid..." he paused in reflection. "I've heard of you. Maisie, isn't it? Likes to stick to the gardens?"

"Miss Maeraid," she repeated. "Let me go." His grip was tight around her shoulders and though she pulled harder she couldn't free herself.

"We just want to know where the Gardener is," the red haired man continued, seemingly unaware of her discomfort. "You must know him. Can you tell us where he is?"

A hand was laid across the man's arm and she looked up into slate blue eyes. "Let her go," he said coldly. The man's arm slipped from her shoulders immediately. She looked around and noticed that she had been led all the way into her own garden. Nineteen years and only she and the Gardener had ever stepped foot on this plot of land. Until now.

"No need to stare so menacingly, General," the man said loudly. "I didn't mean any harm."

Maeraid stepped back from the red haired man, closer to the one she had seen on the streets. The one who stated their purpose. She looked intentionally into his eyes. "The Gardener isn't here, Mr..." she paused meaningfully.

"Arash," he grunted. "Just Arash."

"I'm Jekko," the boy piped in excitedly from behind. "That's Berk, and we're going to see the man at the top of the world."

"Quiet," Arash hissed. "We are not going anywhere."

"Now, General -" the red haired man, Berk, interrupted, just as the boy, Jekko, started in with, "But you told me—"

Maeraid glanced from man to boy, both arguing over each other's voices. Then she looked back at Arash, standing solidly, his gaze never leaving her face. His look was clear. He wanted information, and he knew she had it.

"The Gardener is gone," she said simply and both Berk and Jekko fell silent.

"Gone?" Arash questioned. "Gone home? Gone where?" He looked impatient and desperate. She looked over his foreign attire—a cloak of some kind of animal skin, something she'd never seen before—and she wasn't sure she should trust him, but something about the way he had freed her from her Berk inclined her to do so.

"Gone gone," she said quietly. "To the never ending dream." Her vision blurred as tears threatened to spill over and roll down her cold cheek.

She saw Arash's brow wrinkle in confusion, but she saw recognition in Berk's face. "He's dead, Arash," he stated bluntly.

Maeraid dipped her head as a tear spilled over. Through the blur of tears she noticed her Wisteria wrapped around Berk's leg, and laying close to Jekko's ankle as well. Nothing was near to Arash.

"How will we find the man at the top of the world now?" she heard Jekko whisper.

She lifted her head and faced Jekko curiously. The man at the top of the world? He had mentioned that twice now. "What makes you think the Gardener would know how to find this 'man at the top of the world'?" she asked. She wondered too, why it was so important to find him. But one glance at Arash's dark face convinced her not to question him on it.

Arash let out a heavy breath. "The man at the top of the world grows dreams, like a garden." Maeraid's heart beat a little faster in recognition of the story. She waited for him to go on but he only stared broodingly at the ground.

"The Garden of Dreams," Maeraid offered. "I know of it." Arash's head snapped up and something close to hope flickered in his eyes. "It is said that a Dreamgrower lives in a tower alone and grows dreams in his garden. I confess I have never heard it to be on the top of the world though."

"Where did you hear of this?" Arash demanded.

"From...the Gardener. He taught me some things," she explained vaguely. "There is more in his books, at his home." She looked around her garden.  
_  
Wisteria is the flower of dreams, you know. If your skill with it improves any more, you might start growing the dreams, instead of the flowers._

The Gardener had winked as he walked away, but something in his statement had always stayed with her and filled her with an irrational hope. In a sudden surge of that twelve-year-old defiance she had thought she had subdued years ago, she looked into Arash's eyes and jutted her chin out with all the bravery she could muster. "The Gardener has entire books on it. He left them to me. If you want them on your quest, you must take me with you."


	3. Chapter 3

Jekko wandered around the Gardener's library, stopping to touch the glass vials on one bookshelf. He picked them up, but they felt light in his hands, empty. He set them back down and walked across the floor, trailing his fingers on the fine wooden table. Looking down at the rug he saw it was a pattern of blocks, alternating between reds and blues. He slid his foot off the line in between, planting it firmly in the blue block his other foot was placed in. He hopped to the next blue block, and the next. Then he straddled a red block, each foot in a blue block on either side. Jumping to the next blue block almost ran him straight into Maeraid. He looked up with an embarrassed flush on his face. "I'm sorry, m'lady," he mumbled, backing up.

Maeraid smiled softly at him. "Jekko, I've told you three times already. You can call me Maeraid." She reached out and put her hand on his arm, lifting her eyebrows as though to emphasize the point.

Jekko gulped. "Yes, m'lady," he whispered. She gave him a bemused smile and turned to back to the book in her hand.

He wandered over to Arash. "We leave tonight?" he asked excitedly. "To find man on top of world?" For two days he had waited, trying to earn a little by selling more "dreams" in the afternoon when he knew Berk and Arash would be too busy looking through the Gardener's books with Maeraid to catch him with the fake products.

Arash nodded, a bit uncomfortably. "We'll sleep on the outskirts of town. Leave in the morning."

"I don't see nothin' useful in here," Berk suddenly exclaimed, snapping shut the book he had been looking through. Jekko tiptoed over to Maeraid who took the book with narrowed eyes.

"We're taking it," she said, without even opening the cover. Jekko peered over her shoulder.

"Wuh. Wuh-ii. Wii. Wiss," he whispered, trying to remember how the letters sounded. He hadn't been taught lettering for years.

"Wisteria," Maeraid whispered slowly over her shoulder at him, running her finger beneath the letters as she read them. She turned her head away from him and looked at Arash. "We're taking it," she said again.

"Arash," Berk started while Jekko headed over to peak in the sack Arash held. "This book has nothing about dreams, a garden of dreams, a dreamgrower, or the top of the world. It's just about some flower." Jekko only saw two books in the otherwise empty sack.

"We have room!" Jekko exclaimed.

"Room is one thing, weight is another," Berk went on as though explaining to someone who had never traveled before. Jekko bristled a little at his tone. "Do you really want to carry the weight of an extra book that has nothing to do with our mission, General?" Jekko looked up but Arash still said nothing, glancing between the two in the corner.

"General—" Berk started again.

"Enough," Arash interrupted. Jekko jumped back a little from the bag. "I'm not your general." He looked over at Maeraid. "Why do you want to take this book?"

Maeraid ran her fingers along the title again and then clutched the book to her chest. If Jekko didn't know better, he would have thought she was another girl on the streets, desperately holding her last possession in the world. "Wisteria is—" she paused "—the flower of dreams." Jekko had the sense that she had been about to say something else, but she said nothing further. He looked back at Arash who eyed her for a moment, and then held the bag out for her to drop the book in.

"I'd like to keep this one with me," Maeraid whispered. Arash, Jekko noticed, eyed her suspiciously but brought the bag back to his side and said nothing.

Jekko looked back at Maeraid who still clutched the book to herself. Maeraid had everything a child on the street could have ever wished for. She was the only daughter of the Lord and Lady of the Manor. And yet there she stood clutching a book she'd only now come into contact with as though it was her one and only possession. The only times he'd seen clutches like that were from children holding the last reminders of their families. But Maeraid was leaving her life, her family, and clutching a book about a flower instead. Jekko couldn't tie the contrast together. "Won't you miss them?" he blurted out.

Maeraid looked at him, startled. "Won't you miss your family?" he said again. A blush rose to her cheeks, and she looked awkwardly at the floor.

"Jekko, I—" she started, before pausing for a long time. Arash cleared his throat awkwardly. Jekko wasn't sure if she would go on.

"You did leave the note?" Berk asked severely. "You're not going to run back to them, are you?"

"No," Maeraid nearly spat, her eyes flashing. "I left the note. They should give me at least a day to grieve in solitude before they get suspicious. Perhaps another day before they risk breaking protocol to enter my private garden."

"Two days," Berk scoffed. "I don't know if she's worth it, Arash. The royal patrol will be everywhere. A town girl goes missing, nobody notices. But a noble girl goes missing, and the whole lot of them run around like chickens with their heads cut off."

"It's getting dark," Arash said, ignoring Berk completely. "This'll have to be enough books. We need to head out."

Jekko sidled over to Maeraid as she placed her book in her sack. Maybe he ought to let his question get lost in the commotion the way Arash and Berk seemed content to. But he wanted to know. "Won't you miss them, my lady?" he whispered, just for her to hear. She closed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. She looked at Arash and Berk who were grabbing their own bags.

"Grab your bag, Jekko," she said. She didn't protest his calling her 'my lady'. He wondered if that meant she was angry with him. When he had grabbed his bag they all headed out of the Gardener's house, towards the camp Arash had promised to set up for the night. Arash led the way and Berk stayed close beside him. Maeraid trailed behind them a bit, and Jekko decided to stay near her.

They were several paces outside of town before she said anything. "My mother sent servants to wake me up each morning," she began. Jekko walked a bit closer to hear her soft voice. "Breakfast was in my room, alone. I had lessons all morning and lunch with etiquette tutors. Afternoons were free to do as I pleased, so long as I didn't spend them bothering my parents who were attending to business affairs."

Maeraid looked at Jekko for a moment. "I usually spent them in my garden." She paused and looked back at the ground in front of her, watching her steps.

"Dinner was taken with my mother who believed children should not speak unless spoken to, and my father, when he wasn't away on business. Evenings usually had entertainment of some sort," she scoffed a bit at that; Jekko wasn't sure why. "After my twelfth birthday, I usually retreated to my garden during that time, too."

After a slight pause she went on. "There were exceptions, of course. My mother took me on a few visits to neighboring manors, father was my partner during a few dancing lessons, we once had a family picnic..." she trailed off, the traces of a smile in her voice. Then she stopped short and Jekko had to backtrack a step to face her.

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "My garden was more of a family than they were, Jekko," she whispered fiercely.

Jekko didn't know the hurt of abandonment, but he knew the ache of a missing family. He put a hand on her arm. He couldn't think of a thing to say about her parents, so he said the only obvious thing left. "You grew Wisteria, Maeraid?" He was careful to include her name in the question.

She blinked back tears and smiled brightly at him. He wasn't sure if it was because he mentioned Wisteria or because he called her by her name. He suspected both. She got a sudden twinkle in her eyes. "Maybe, Jekko," she said in a mischievous tone, "or maybe, it grew me." She laughed. The bright, tinkling laugh of a girl with no troubles in the world. Surprised, but pleased, he laughed along with her.

* * *

"Anyway," Berk said, "I say we head north. We can read what those books say a bit, but north is the way to go. Everyone knows north's the top of the map, so it must be the top of the world, too."

Arash listened to the man distractedly as he dragged more wood over to the pile and began striking the flint together. He didn't know why he was bothering to do this. He didn't know why he'd bothered taking them all out of town; he was just losing more time. The sun had already dipped under the horizon, and soon it would be too late for all of them. Except him. It was always him—he was always the one left, and he wasn't going to see that happen again!

He jumped back as the flames suddenly leapt to life, and leaves and brush crackled in the fire, nearly burning his hands as well. He fed more of the wood into the fire before standing up and glancing at Berk.

"What if north is not the way to the top of the world?" Jekko asked, coming around Berk's other side. Maeraid was standing behind them both; he could see her eyes peeking through them to look at him. "In my country—far over the sea, we have maps, too. But in our maps, the top is not north. It is south!"

Berk turned on the boy with a sharp frown. "South! What kind of maps are these? See, this is why we need the Empire! All these far off countries with these strange ideas. Everyone needs to be set straight!"

"Maybe we could look in the books for directions, now that the fire's going," Maeraid offered, stepping around Berk at last.

Arash crossed his arms, looking at them all levelly. In his world, in the blue desert, he'd never thought of directions as ways to destinations. They were just turns to take, chasing the avadors wherever they went. The only place anyone went was on the hunt. For most of his life, he'd never dreamed of anything north or south being any different from anywhere else; the only thing he ever saw were those dusty blue plains, stretching and changing in the winds for miles upon miles. His home was a flat, low world, where the dull gray sky was much too high to reach.

"We're going to the mountains," he said, and when he said it, he realized that he meant it, decisively. As far as his own mind went, the only way to the top of the world was up, up to touch the sky.

"The mountains?" Berk asked. "Well...I s'pose that's alright. The mountains are northwest, anyway. At least, the closest ones are, and we might as well start close and work outward. That's what I always say. Strategy, boys. That's what's important." He eyed both Arash and Jekko seriously.

"Mountains!" Jekko exclaimed, ignoring Berk. "I have seen many mountains before. In my country, there are mountains everywhere! Well, maybe not everywhere, but lots of them about. Men don't like mountains, though. They say...traveling is too difficult. You can't carry goods through mountains."

"I don't care about goods," Arash said, reaching down to throw another stick into the fire. "All I care about is getting there." He paused, before glancing at the swiftly darkening sky. "I suggest you all get to sleep as quickly as you can," he said. "I want to leave early in the morning, as soon as the sun's up."

"Yes, sir!" Jekko said, ducking behind Berk and over to Maeraid. "Mountains, Maeraid! Can you believe it?"

He didn't hear her reply, as both of them turned to their packs, beginning to get out their bedrolls and set them up around the fire. He glanced at Berk who was still standing there, watching him. Finally, Arash sat down on one of the logs he'd hauled out of the forest, staring into the fire, hoping this would end the conversation, and Berk would go about his own business.

"Aren't you going to set up your own bedroll, General?" Berk asked, crossing his arms as his bushy eyebrows lowered over his eyes.

Arash glanced up at him. "I thought I'd keep watch. We don't know what might have happened at the manor." He glanced at Maeraid meaningfully. "Someone could come looking."

"Ah, good thinking, General. Strategy. Should we maybe do the watches in pairs, though? You know, in case someone dozes off."

"I would, but there's only four of us. Two watches isn't enough, and I don't want anyone to have to get up twice. Three should do the trick. We'll leave her out of it, and Jekko can take the morning watch. It's least likely anyone will come at that time. I'll wake you for second watch." He was surprised by how easily the lies spewed out of his mouth. He'd never been good at lying before. It wasn't something he was comfortable doing, but...this was necessary.

Berk nodded. "All right, General." He turned back to the packs and began setting up his own bedroll next to Jekko's.

The boy was the first one ready, burrowing beneath the folds of his makeshift bed. "Goodnight, Arash! Goodnight, Berk! Goodnight, Maeraid!"

"Goodnight," Maeraid replied softly, climbing into her own bedroll.

Berk only grunted as he laid down and rolled the other way.

Arash said nothing, remaining where he was, watching the fire in silence. He'd spent many a night watching other fires in other places. In his home, every tent was equipped with a fire every night and every day, if they weren't on the move. They wouldn't have survived without the blooming flower of flame, licking piles of wood with a tongue that seared and turned to ash, warming them all. Fire was their life source.

He began to breathe a bit easier after a few moments of watching the glowing orange and red flames. He remembered clearly that first night alone, when everyone he knew had been taken. It looked like some kind of massacre, only there was no blood. Everyone just laid there, in their beds, gone cold. Dead. He could have joined another tribe, maybe. There were other groups of them in the blue desert, hunting different herds. But he didn't know where to find them, and he couldn't, _couldn't _be the death of them, too.

He'd taken one of the tents, and he'd left. The fire had been his only companion. He stayed up most of the night, watching. He'd felt that if he took his eyes off it, just for a moment, it might disappear, and he'd be alone. All alone. They'd always had groups of men in tents together, and he was used to the sounds of even breathing beside him, snoring, sometimes mumbling as they moved about in dreams.

These were the sounds he heard now. He glanced at the three sleeping bodies around the fire. Berk was snoring, loudly. He heard Jekko's voice in a soft whisper, talking about bandits and escaping the city, a boat somewhere tied up and waiting. Maeraid was only a gentle hum of soft breath, in and out, in and out.

They were all asleep. It was time now; he could leave them and go on by himself. He stood up slowly and picked up his pack, swinging it over his shoulder. It had only his own bedroll, money he'd earned in town, and a knife. He would let them keep the books and other provisions. He wouldn't have them thinking of him as a thief as well as a deserter.

He turned to go, heading off into the forest. It was a dark, shapeless mass of trees, hanging over him and shadowing his path, but he wasn't afraid. He walked away, listening to the sound his footsteps made as they cracked down on twigs and pine needles in his path. He was almost to the point where he wouldn't be able to see them anymore, when he turned back to glance at them just once—and stopped.

There were plants growing on them. Fear formed like a tangible lump in his throat. He'd stayed too long. The Nightmares had them already. They'd taken on some strange new form, and—he was too late!

He turned around and ran back to them. If he could fight them—the Nightmares—just once, and save someone besides himself for a change. If he could stop them, give himself up instead—but it wasn't the Nightmares that had them. As he got closer, he saw that for certain.

They were flowers. He'd seen some like these in the garden they'd been in, when they talked to Maeraid. It seemed to be spreading out from her. There were leaves and white and pale pink and purple petals all over her, with tendrils of it creeping along the ground to Jekko and Berk. It was a silent growth, but it moved quickly, soon covering both of them and forming a wall around all three until they were lost among the tall branches and cascading petals.

Arash did not know what to do. He stared. He gaped. Then he moved towards them to try and pull the flowers off them, in case they were suffocating under all that. Half way to Berk, he stopped short.

He felt it. The cold chill wrapping around him. His breath was gone in a heartbeat. He felt his pack slide off his shoulder and drop with a thud to the ground. He closed his eyes and felt the spindly fingers of Death. The north wind became a howl in his ears, like wolves to the moon, but more wild, more savage.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the shadows, all anyone ever saw of the Nightmares. Shadows of death. Hints of monsters with gnashing teeth, jaws that swallowed you whole. They whirred around him, circling him with their fear.

_What do you love most? Let us take it from you. What do you fear most? Let us give it to you a thousandfold._

He was being swallowed, drug down, down—if only they would take him, as they should have long ago.

He feared being alone.

They circled him another time or two, then they moved over to the three sleeping by the fire. Maeraid, a noble woman. Jekko, an innocent boy from the streets. Berk, an aspiring emperor. All their deaths would be on his head, on his conscience. The Nightmares moved stealthily, with chilling sounds like laughter, and he watched, biting his lip until it bled. They reached the cloak of flowers—and stopped.

They tried again; twice more they surrounded the flowers and tried to force their way through, and twice more they were stopped. The flowers were impenetrable. Berk and Jekko and Maeraid would survive!

The shadows turned slowly, fixed on him.

He dropped to the ground and pulled his bedroll out of his pack. He wasn't going to leave tonight. If the Nightmares killed him, good riddance! It should have happened a long time ago. And if they didn't kill him, it would be the same as any other night, albeit worse, since it was the twelfth night, but that hardly mattered. He crawled into his bedroll and shut his eyes as the Nightmares roared around him.

No matter what happened to him tonight, he could sleep knowing the rest of them would be alive in the morning.

* * *

Metaphorical ice cream to all reviewers!


	4. Chapter 4

The story lives!

* * *

"By the Empire!" Maeraid woke to Berk's loud exclamation. She opened her eyes and gasped. Wisteria flooded her senses. The pink blossoms blanketed her body. The purple flowers were a barricade around her. The white blooms dangled above her head, brushing her cheek as they swayed in a breeze she couldn't feel. If it wasn't for Berk's continued tirade, she'd have thought she was still in a dream. "Blasted flowers have got me surrounded! Quit your laughing boy! General, something happened on your watch and I demand an explanation!"

Maeraid sat up and parted the wall of purple flowers, poking her head through. The first thing she saw was Arash looking at her. She saw in his eyes the shadows of something she couldn't name. As though she could sprout wings or disappear and it wouldn't surprise him in the least. There were no flowers around Arash.

Berk was pacing about. His bedroll was surrounded in flowers, broken and trampled. He was still exclaiming about waking up surrounded. She couldn't see Jekko but she could hear his laughter. Berk stopped pacing at last, pointing a finger at Arash. "Explain!"

Arash's eyes never left her face. "They came from her."

"From me?" her voice sounded awed, but not surprised. They were _her_ flowers after all.

"Yes." He sounded strangely grateful, and exhausted.

Jekko suddenly appeared through a wall of flowers to her right. He ran over to the blossom window she held open and peered in at her bedroll, as though she had hidden secrets he might find there. "How did you do it, m'lady?" he asked in awe.

"Yes, I think we all deserve an explanation now, Miss." Berk crossed his arms and furrowed his bushy red eyebrows at her. Arash continued to stare at her with a blank expression.

Maeraid looked at the three of them waiting for an explanation. "I didn't..._do_ anything," she finally stuttered, as much at a loss as the three of them apparently were.

"You said Wisteria was the flower of dreams," Arash remarked slowly.

She thought this over. She couldn't remember any dreams, just the pleasant sense of a night well slept. "That's what Gardener told me."

"And what else did the gardener tell you?" Berk asked gruffly. Every inch of his manner seemed to display his discomfort. Discomfort, she gathered, not so much with their situation itself, but with not understanding it.

"That Wisteria is...my flower." She said this quietly, unsure of what she was implying. For the first time she had real proof that Wisteria was more than just a flower she grew in her garden. But she was no closer to understanding what that meant.

Neither, apparently, were any of her companions. Jekko stared in awe, Berk looked dubious, and Arash thoughtful. Then Arash bent and began to pack up his bedroll. "Break camp, we move out," he said as though all had been settled.

"But General," Berk protested uneasily, "We don't know a whit about these – these – Wisteria. Assess the threat first, General. That's how you run a proper campaign. Assess the threat first."

"The threat," Arash countered, "is that someone will find us if we don't get on our way. Break camp. We can assess later, when we're on our way."

Jekko winked at Maeraid and ran to do as Arash ordered. Berk grumbled but began to pack up as well. Maeraid let her hand fall and the flowers closed around her. She packed up her bedroll. Slipping her hand into her bag, she fingered the book on Wisteria from Gardener's library.

"I don't think they're a threat," she heard Arash rebuke Berk's continued grumbling. Though she had found Arash thus far to be cautiously distrustful in all matters, he didn't seem to question the flowers. If she wasn't mistaken he even seemed grateful for them. And yet the flowers hadn't touched Arash.

Deciding to leave the book in her bag, she grabbed her pack and stood. As soon as she was on her feet the flowers retreated. As though pulled by the roots they all disappeared into the ground beneath her feet. Jekko's jaw dropped again and Maeraid cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Good," Arash commented. "We won't leave a trail." Then he turned and began walking. "Maeraid," he spoke as though calling a meeting to order, though he called from over his shoulder. "Berk has questions for you."

Maeraid looked at Berk as they began walking. He straightened up, trying not to show his surprise that Arash was letting him do the questioning. "Yes. The Wiseteria - " he paused, seeming not to know how best to approach the subject. He stuttered a bit, grasping at his beard and saying "well" over and over again indecisively until she began to feel awkward for him.

"It's never done that before," she offered. "But I've never slept outside before either."

"Right," Berk commented, trying to sound knowledgeable.

"I think we ought to ask Arash what happened," Maeraid stated. "He was the one who was awake after all."

"Yes," Berk agreed vehemently. "Arash, you were the one awake. What happened?"

Arash continued walking forward purposefully, as though his destination might lie around any corner. Maeraid was about to repeat the question when at last he spoke. "They protected you. I don't know how, and I don't know why."

"Protected us from what Arash?" She had the feeling Arash knew something about her flowers that she didn't know. She was determined to figure out what it was.

He stopped and turned to face them, a ferocity in his face that frightened her. "From the nightmares."

* * *

Berk walked with his eyes straight ahead, arms crossed in front of him. He was not pleased with the current state of affairs. He could hear Maeraid and Jekko whispering somewhere behind him, and the sound annoyed him. And as for Arash – he glanced at the man who was several yards ahead of the rest of them – well, he just wasn't turning out to be much of a general.

And he'd barely explained anything. Nightmares, he said. Chased him from his desert home all the way here. Killed his family. His entire tribe, maybe. It was never made quite clear. They chased him, and every twelfth night they killed somebody, which should've been him but for some reason they didn't abide by the rules with him and killed everyone he knew instead. It would've been them, if it weren't for the flower protection.

Flower protection – ha. Absurd phrase. Absurd happening. And of course, the girl couldn't explain it at all. His life was suddenly becoming filled with unexplainables. If it wasn't for the fact that he'd woken tangled in the stuff, he would have thought the rest of them all just needed a bit of help. He still rather thought so.

And in any case, none of this mess was helping him in his quest to rule the world. The Empire – that's what this was really all about. If it wasn't for the Empire, he might have up and left this crew immediately following that strange flower encounter.

But this man at the top of the world, if he existed, could help, perhaps. And he liked travelling – liked it more than anything else, except maybe giving orders. Well, no, not even that. Traveling the world – his empire – it was wonderful. It showed him what the world was really all about. The people, the terrain.

The terrain here was gorgeous. Green plains spread out to the horizon. Like a sea, but more visibly alive. The grass swayed in the wind with a rustling, whistling sound. Little wildflowers near the bottom of it, tiny splotches of pink and yellow. And butterflies like maple seeds, drifting through the breeze, then suddenly snap! They darted upward like tiny arrows.

Most people didn't notice all the details of the world. Or if they did, they just didn't care. He, Berk Benderdaster, of the Ludil Benderdasters, noticed. And he loved it. And that's why he was the one who was fit to rule it all. Someday, everyone else would understand.

He noticed, suddenly, that he was actually gaining on Arash. This was perhaps because Arash was no longer walking, or perhaps because, ultimately, he had much more stamina than Arash.

"What?" he asked, uncrossing and recrossing his arms when he reached the general.

Arash pointed; he looked and saw. A tower. He didn't know why he hadn't seen it before. It was right in front of them. Overgrown, though. Very overgrown with little crawling, vine plants so that it fairly blended into the grass. A bit taller than the grass, but still. Anyway, he'd been too concentrated on the details to pay attention to thinks like towers.

Maeraid and Jekko reached them now, glancing with wide eyes at the tower. He looked at all of them and cracked his knuckles. "Well, is this it then? The tower at the top of the world? I'd expected it to be a bit more...at the top of the world."

Arash glanced at him. His eyes had the sort of verging on murder look in them, but Berk wasn't fazed. In fact, this was the reason he still had some faith in Arash as a general. He could clearly give orders effectively. "This isn't it," Arash said. "It doesn't match the legend at all. The land's supposed to be lush. Full of every kind of plants and flowers. Not just this grass. It's just another tower."

"Maybe there is a princess in the tower!" Jekko said, clapping his hands together. "There are always princesses in towers! They are in all the stories I used to hear in my country."

Berk rolled his eyes at the boy. "Another princess. Just what we need."

"I'm not a princess!" Maeraid refuted, shooting him a dirty look, but he paid no mind. Lady, princess, it didn't matter. Nobles were all the same. Clearly, they needed a real leader in this situation. And he was just the man for that.

"I say we investigate," he said. "This may not be _the _tower we need, but it could have valuable information inside of it. Perhaps it's some kind of landmarker on the way to the real tower. We should definitely investigate."

Everyone looked at him, but nobody moved. He sighed and considered how young people really needed direction in their lives these days and began walking toward the tower himself. Hopefully, they would all follow. If not, well, it hardly mattered. If you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.

Everyone did follow, but rather behind him, and he reached the tower first. He crossed his arms at it and frowned and then stroked his beard a few times and walked around the whole of it. There wasn't a door.

Then he heard a voice. "Hello! Hello? Are you...a person? A real, live person?"

He blinked several times before looking up. And there she was. A girl. Leaning out a window. Blonde hair. He couldn't make out much else, given the height she was above him. Arash and Maeraid and Jekko were all coming up to him now, and he rather wished the girl would just go away; he didn't want Jekko to get the idea that he was right about the tower.

But of course, Jekko saw her and seemed to nearly jump out of his skin. "Look, look! I told you! I know about towers! She is a princess. See, see? Am I right?"

Berk frowned at the boy. "You don't know she's a princess, Jekko. Just because she's in a tower does not make her a princess."

"Excuse me," she said, in a light, airy sort of voice. "Are you all talking about me?"

He glanced up at her.

Jekko did the same, and asked, "Are you a princess, my lady?"

She laughed. "No! Not even a little."

"See, what did I tell you?" Berk said, turning to Jekko. "She's not a princess at all. We might as well leave."

"No, don't leave!" the girl said, loudly, with a sense of urgency. "Don't leave. You – not all of you, but you with the loud voice and crossed arms – you were the first one to see me. That means that you're the only one that can get me out of this tower. And if you do get me out and take me with you, wherever you're going, I'll bring you good luck!"


	5. Chapter 5

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* * *

Sa'ida looked down at the man who would rescue her from the tower. He was a large, middle-aged man with red hair and a full beard. She smiled at him, though he likely couldn't tell from down there. It was just that she was so glad to see him. And he wasn't the only one! He had three other people with him. That meant four people all together! And she hadn't seen anyone in – well, it had been five since she last counted, so thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two, she counted off on her fingers – forty-three weeks!

"Good luck? What do you mean by good luck?" the man asked.

"I mean good luck!" she called down to him. "Good fortune. Things just happening to go your way. You know?"

"What sort of good luck?"

"Any sort. All sorts!" She smiled again. It was true. Sigur was practically a king now. At least, she assumed so. She hadn't seen him in...a while. But when he left her in the tower, he was on his way to meet the princess of Sairzo with the title "Sir Sigur of the Many Gemstones." He was just a farm boy when she met him. And Jack had caught dozens and dozens of fish every day she spent with him. Venn had just sort of avoided being killed by rockslides and floods and things, but...well, it would've been a very unlucky couple of months if she hadn't been there.

"So...you could help my empire?" the man asked, stroking his beard in thought.

Oh! Someone high class. She hadn't been with anyone high class since...King Torgin, and that was when she was thirteen. Seven years ago now. She leaned out the window a bit farther to try and get a better look at the red haired man. "Are you an emperor?" He didn't much look like an emperor. But if his empire needed help, maybe that was why.

"Well—no," he said, stuttering a little. "Not yet. But I will be. You see..." he fidgeted a bit, then stood up straighter and tilted his head up to look at her. "I have a dream. Of a world united under one, unbreakable empire. There will be a place for everyone in the empire, from small children to the elderly. People will come to understand...the details of the world."

He seemed so immensely proud of the idea that she couldn't help but smile. At least he was harmless. When she'd been with King Torgin, she sometimes worried that her bringing him good luck would bring rather poor luck to the rest of the world. He kept her in a cage sometimes. She didn't like that.

"Can you help with my empire?" the man asked again.

"Well, yes. I think I ought to be able to. A little bit, at least. I don't really have much control over it, but...you should get some manner of good luck, anyway."

"How do you bring this good luck?" he asked, crossing his arms. He was frowning again. Skeptical. She could hear it in his voice. "You're not some sort of fake, are you? Trying to trick people – like you and your dream vials?" he turned on the boy beside him with a disapproving look.

The boy ducked away. "I am no fake! Just the vials. But it is over. No more vials for me."

Sa'ida smiled. Darling boy. "You'll see if you get me out of here!" she said, leaning against the window.

"Yes, Berk, get her out!" she heard the boy say. "She said only you can do it."

"I'll do what I want!" the man – Berk – roared. He looked up at her. "Well—how do I do it?"

"Oh, I don't know," she shrugged, fingering the key around her neck. "Sigur only sort of explained it to me. He was in a bit of a hurry to meet a princess."

Berk looked up at her, and from what she could tell, he looked puzzled.

"But I know you can do it," she said, in an effort to give some encouragement. "The first one to see me can get me out. And it has to actually be me, not just the tower. Otherwise it would've been him, I suppose." She looked over at the other man in the group. He looked much younger and rather intriguingly dark and tall. Well, as tall as anyone can look from twenty feet above them. He sort of shuffled around under her gaze but didn't say anything.

As Berk started to walk around the base of the tower again, the boy said something to the girl that was also with them. From what she could tell, the girl appeared to be around her age, with dark hair and nicer clothing. She shrugged at what the boy said, and Jekko turned his head back up to her.

"Who is Sigur?" he asked.

She smiled. "Sigur is my very best friend in all the world, but he locked me in this tower, which I haven't been very happy about. He meant well, but I'm afraid he just never quite saw me as a person instead of a good luck charm."

"But—why lock you in a tower?"

"Well, you see...we traveled together for two years, and I brought him all sorts of good luck, so he was rich and sort of a knight and very well-to-do, so he ended up getting invited to go meet this princess that he would probably end up marrying, and he thought it would be better not to have me around raising suspicion, but he didn't want me to get snatched away by someone else, because that does tend to happen to me, so he found this tower and locked me in here, and he said he'd come back and get me soon, and I shouldn't show myself until I heard his voice so that he would be the only one able to get me out, but he never did come back, and it's been forty-three weeks, and I'm a bit tired of waiting. I did love him, but I'd rather be someone else's good luck charm than wait on him forever. Or just be stuck here forever, since he probably did marry the princess and will never come back."

"That is awful! You should not have let him lock you up!"

"Oh, I know. But I was so in love with him at the time I practically believed him when he said he'd be back shortly."

"Well, I don't see any way in!" Berk shouted. He'd been tapping his foot through the whole second half of her story, and he looked very annoyed.

Sa'ida smiled. She supposed now might be a good time. "Would you like a key?" she asked, pulling the chain from around her neck.

"A key?" Berk asked. "But there's no door!"

"Isn't there?" she asked, tossing the key down.

The boy hurried and snatched up the key from where it landed. He then had to do his own run around the tower to check. When he got back to the front, he shook his head at her. "He is right. No door."

She smiled as he handed the key over to Berk. The expression on Berk's face changed, and he walked forward until she couldn't see him anymore. The boy began to point and stammer. "It—it—the door—appeared! Maeraid, did you see it?"

The girl nodded. "It's magic," she said.

Sa'ida heard Berk's footsteps coming up the stairs behind her, and she turned away from the window. She looked around the small room. She was supposed to have stayed here a few days. A week, at the most. Forty-three weeks! It was lucky it was a magic tower and supplied whatever she needed. Lucky. She took in a breath and hoped Sigur was happy, wherever he was.

She heard a cough behind her and turned. Berk was in the doorway, where the stairs began. "Fine tower you've got here," he said, glancing around. "A bit frivolous."

She laughed. "The only thing frivolous is the bed." She glanced at the giant, purple thing and then at the rest of the bare room. "The only thing is the bed." She paused for a moment. "Now...I had a bedroll when I came. It would be useful for traveling, I think." She pursed her lips together, thinking, then held up a finger and dropped to the ground, peering underneath the purple monstrosity that she slept in. Sure enough, there it was. She pulled it out and walked toward Berk. "Ready," she said, smiling.

Berk stared at her. It took her a long moment to remember why; no one had looked at her in such a long time. "You—you have two different colored eyes." He looked nearly ready to bolt out the door.

"Yes," she said. "One brown and one blue. That's why I'm good luck. Or...they're that way because I'm good luck. I'm not really sure which is the cause and which is the effect, but...either way." She shrugged.

He nodded, a little hesitantly, but it was a nod, at least. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Sa'ida," she said, holding out her hand for him to shake. "And you're Berk."

He nodded again. "Well...shall we go, then?"

"Yes, let's. I'm rather eager to be out of here."

They walked down the stairs together, and she recalled just what a long set of stairs it was, spiraling down and down and down. Finally, though, they reached the bottom and the doorway, and then she was out of the tower. Out. Free.

The other three of them were standing in front of her, but she rushed past them and out of the shadow of the tower. "Oh, it's so lovely!" she shouted. "I nearly forgot what it was like to really be in the sunlight. And grass under my feet!" She kicked off her shoes and jumped up and down on it and wiggled her toes in it, and it was _glorious_.

They were all staring at her. The boy was smiling. "How long did you say you were in the tower?"

She giggled. "Forty three weeks. Forty three weeks I'm terribly glad are over! I'm Sa'ida. I have two different colored eyes," she said, to make sure they didn't wonder but feel too awkward to ask about it. "I'll bring good luck – to Berk; I'm afraid it only works for one person, but as we're all traveling together, I assume, you ought to be able to reap some of the benefits."

The boy smiled wider. "Good luck! Hurray! I am Jekko."

"Hello, Jekko," she smiled at him.

"I'm Maeraid," the dark haired girl said, giving a friendly smile. Sa'ida made a mental note – to be friends with her. It would be odd. She'd never had any girl friends before. Not even any older women just to look out for her a bit. She guessed women weren't as eager to carry girls around as good luck charms as men were, for some reason. But it might be fun to have a friend, to giggle about...men and braid each other's hair and things. She wondered if they were too old for that sort of thing now.

"It's nice to meet you, Maeraid," she said, and then turned to the other man in the party, the dark haired one. He was tall, she realized, now that she was standing at the same level as him. Very tall. She only came up to his chest.

"Arash," he said, after staring at her for a moment. Nothing else, just his name.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, too, Arash. So, where are we going?"

* * *

Maeraid sat near the fire, leafing through the pages of the book on Wisteria. _Folklore – Wisteria is widely known as the flower of dreams. _She'd read the first three chapters and that was the most relevant sentence she had come across. She sighed and looked up at Arash, who was adding another log to the fire. Arash said the 'nightmares' came every night, but they only killed once every twelve nights. It was some sort of cycle. She wondered if her flowers would come again tonight or if they too, would cycle.

Sa'ida came and sat down beside her. Beyond her initial greeting, she hadn't spoken to Sa'ida yet. She didn't know what to say. At home, her mother did the hostess duties. She often didn't attend visits, and when she did she rarely had to speak. Here, Arash and Berk didn't talk to her much. Jekko talked in circles but he never seemed to expect much reply. Having another girl along made her hope they would be friends. But she wasn't sure if she knew how. It was Sa'ida who broke the silence. "What are you reading?" she asked.

Maeraid paused. No one had told Sa'ida. She wished Jekko would have told her when they were walking together. He seemed pleased to switch his listening partner from her to Sa'ida, telling her all about his travels and how he joined up with them, but he never got to the events of last night. What was she supposed to say now? By the way, don't be alarmed if you wake up covered in flowers that spring from the ground beneath me; they're just protecting you from nightmares.

"Wisteria is the flower of dreams," she finally said, holding the book so she could see the title. She wondered if Sa'ida could read it.

Sa'ida smiled pleasantly and nodded, as though she expected her to continue on. "Uh...Arash?" she looked over at him, hoping he would pick up the explanation. But he stood up and walked towards Berk, completely ignoring her. She heard him start to talk about their route for tomorrow. Maeraid turned back to Sa'ida, who was still waiting for her to go on. She felt her cheeks flush red. Why did she have to explain? "Arash, has nightmares," she said. "Every twelve days they...kill those sleeping near him. But Wisteria protects you."

Sa'ida blinked. Maeraid pointed to the book. "I'm trying to figure out why, or how, or...anything really." She sighed again.

"Sounds fascinating," Sa'ida chimed in. She turned to face her better and clasped her hands. "Give me the details once more. Then we can analyze for hidden clues."

Maeraid was surprised. She hadn't even thought of asking Sa'ida to help her figure out the mysteries. Slowly, she went over the situation again. This time she began with the Gardener and his suggestion of Wisteria being her flower. She related the details of waking up covered in Wisteria and Arash's explanation of the nightmares and what had happened.

Sa'ida seemed excited. "Will the flowers come again tonight? If they don't will we get nightmares? Why don't they protect Arash? What if we just don't sleep on the twelfth night? How do you think my luckiness will affect things?"

"Yes, Maeraid, what should we expect tonight?" Berk was suddenly standing over them, arms crossed.

Maeraid looked down to her lap, wishing she had an answer. "I don't know."

Berk snorted and walked away muttering about the uselessness of royalty. Maeraid bristled a bit. She belonged to the nobility, not the royalty. Kings and Queens, Princes and Princesses, those were the royals. A Lady was a far cry from a princess. And she wasn't useless. At home she was useless. Her father and mother had duties; all she did was tend to her flowers. But her flowers had meaning here. She just didn't understand it. She sighed again. Maybe it was only her flowers that were useful after all.

Sa'ida scooted closer and put her hands on top of hers. "Well, tonight we'll find out how often the flowers come." She gave an excited smile, completely unfazed by her lack of answers or Berk's grumblings.

Maeraid smiled back in spite of her mood. It might be nice to have someone excited about her flowers and interested in the mystery behind them. Berk grumbled, Arash stared, and Jekko was awed. It made her feel just the way the Gardener had made her feel: owned by her flowers, controlled by something she didn't understand. Maybe Sa'ida, a girl her own age, would see her as a friend first, not a flower growing noble lady. Maybe Sa'ida would know how to be a friend, even if she didn't.

"We should sleep," Arash said from across the fire, as a general announcement. "While the night lasts." He then crawled into his bedroll, turning to face away from everyone.

Sa'ida looked back at Maeraid, eyebrows raised. Maeraid wasn't sure what Sa'ida's expression was about so she just shrugged and crawled into her own bedroll. Sa'ida followed, laying down between her and Berk. Jekko was already sleeping in his own bedroll on Maeraid's other side. She listened to him murmuring in his sleep, unable to make out any words. Soon she could hear Sa'ida's slow, even breathing and Berk's snores. Arash began to toss and turn and she wondered if the nightmares were beginning their cycle again. Or perhaps the long torment had made him a restless sleeper. How long did he say the nightmares had been after him? She couldn't remember. She felt her eyelids closing, her breaths coming more slowly.

She was in her mother's tea room. Sa'ida sat across from her, holding her mother's fine china. She poured the tea, but it slipped from her hands. Instead of tea spilling, flowers fell onto the tablecloth. Sa'ida laughed, doubling over and pointing. Maeraid wanted to shrink into the floor.

Berk had his hand on her shoulder directing her steps. "Nobles," he was saying, "are useless." He tossed her into the middle of a crowd. "Useless!" they all repeated, circling around her and pointing. Jekko danced around the edge of the circle, laughing.

Arash had her in a cage. Flowers, not Wisteria, but something similar, was spreading out from her, wrapping around her wrists like shackles. Arash stared with cold, dead eyes as the flowers grew towards him. "Let me go," she pleaded. But he ignored her, reaching his hand out for the flowers. They seemed to respond to his motions, doubling, tripling their growth, smothering her. Desperately she searched for any real Wisteria in the pile. She reached her hand between the bars of the cage and to the ground. She willed Wisteria from it. A small sprig grew into her hand, she grabbed it and held on.

The Wisteria sprig was still in her hand, but she was standing in a garden. A man with blue eyes and hair the color of sand stood across from her, also holding a sprig of Wisteria in his hand. "Oh," he said as though surprised. Then he laughed triumphantly waving the Wisteria in the air. He leaned in close to her ear, glancing this way and that as though he was afraid someone was listening. "Chapter seven," he whispered. Then he pulled back, waving a book in his hand where the Wisteria used to be.

_Growing Daisies_ she read on the cover. She frowned. "Chapter -" he looked at the cover and then chucked the book behind him. "Wrong one," he said with a smile. Then he pulled up another book out of nowhere, looked at it and chucked it as well. "Still wrong. Nope. Not it." He muttered as he went through several more. "Aha!" He finally pulled up a book she recognized. _Wisteria _she read on the cover. It was her book. "Chapter seven, Maeraid!" he yelled excitedly.

Maeraid woke with a start. The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon. There was no Wisteria around her. But in her hand she gripped one small sprig of it. She jumped up and grabbed the book, flipping open to chapter seven.

_Wisteria is associated with the legend of The Seven Circles of Dawn. The Seven Circles of Dawn are said to be the gateway to the top of the world. Wisteria is said to line the edges of the circles, marking their boundary in a wall of ever blooming blossoms._

Maeraid woke Sa'ida. "Sa'ida listen!" Maeraid read her the section.

"The Seven Circles of Dawn." Sa'ida mused as though remembering. "Venn mentioned them! He didn't say anything about a gateway – more like a test. In his village the Seven Circles of Dawn are common knowledge. We should visit them!"

"Were you there? Do you know where his village is?" Maeraid asked.

"I was there, only one night. Venn traveled always. But his home was in the mountains. The people of the third mountain, they called themselves. I don't know why, it was the seventh or eighth mountain by my reckoning. We must go there!"

Sa'ida jumped up and shook Berk, Arash and Jekko awake. "We're going to the mountains!" she announced.

"We already knew that!" Berk grumbled.

"Not just any mountain," she went on. "The village of the people of the third mountain. They know of the Seven Circles of Dawn!" Sa'ida just stood there smiling triumphantly as though everyone should know what she meant.

Maeraid smiled and stepped up to clear the confusion written across the men's faces. "Chapter seven, of the book of Wisteria says that Wisteria borders the legendary Seven Circles of Dawn, a gateway to the top of the world."

Jekko whooped. Arash just began to pack.

"Now you're talking some sense," Berk commented. He turned to Sa'ida. "Maybe you're some luck after all."

"Maeraid discovered it," Sa'ida said proudly.

Maeraid blushed. "It wasn't me," she said. "It was..." She stopped, thinking of the man in her dream. Maeraid, he had called her, but she was certain she had never seen him before. It was the only dream that hadn't been a nightmare. In fact, it hadn't felt like a dream at all. She looked up, but no one was waiting for further explanation. She was glad she didn't have to try to explain. As she packed up her bedroll, she checked again for the sprig of Wisteria. It was still there, crushed where she had held it like a lifeline. She brushed her fingers over it, wondering.


End file.
